


The Big Please

by teacuphuman



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex, Arthur is a wanton little thing, Established Relationship, Extreme stimutation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 12:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17787281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: Arthur's holding back and Eames aims to find out why.





	The Big Please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oceaxe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/gifts).



> Oceaxe's prompts was "Paying the Price" and I sort of maybe followed that? Eames is paying the price for his curiosity, but it's more like a reward. Happy Stupid Cupid, darling!

Let it never be said Arthur is as stiff as he looks. Eames has often thought this, usually when Arthur’s in front him, or on top of him, or in him. Once the suits come off, and occasionally while they’re still on, Arthur is a delightfully robust lover. Generous to a fault and up for almost anything.

 

Almost.

 

“You’ll be the death of me, darling,” Eames gasps, his breath catching when Arthur laughs around him and slides the head of Eames’ cock across the roof of his mouth.

 

He loves Arthur like this, on his knees and at his mercy, working Eames’ cock in the wet heat of his body. Arthur will do this all day if it’s what Eames’ wants, and goddamn if it doesn’t make Eames feel closer to god to have him do it. But there’s one thing Arthur doesn’t do.

 

Arthur doesn’t bottom.

 

“But why?” Eames asks after his fourth request because it’s not like Arthur opposes Eames’ fingers or tongue in his ass. And he certainly has no objection to fucking Eames if the fresh rug burn on their knees are anything to go by. Or the bruises on Eames’ hips and the backs of his thighs.

 

Arthur sighs and drops his arm over his face. There’s perspiration beading in the wiry hair under his arm and Eames has a sudden desire to rub his face in it.

 

“I’m pretty sure we’ve had this conversation before,” Arthur tells him as a muscle high on his leg twitches, drawing Eames’ attention.

 

“I’ve asked and you’ve declined,” Eames says, crawling across the floor toward him. They’d thrown themselves apart once they finished, eager to cool off from the heat they’d built between them. “That’s hardly a conversation.”

 

“That’s the only conversation that matters when it comes to sex,” Arthur tells him, but there’s humour in his voice, like he knows Eames just can’t help poke at the subject. And he’s right, Eames hates loose ends, and Arthur not wanting Eames’ cock in his ass drags behind him like a frayed shoelace.

 

He frowns and settles for giving the joint of Arthur’s leg kitten licks, relishing the tang of sweat that bursts on his tongue. There’s a subtle smell of latex but Arthur mostly smells like heat, and sex, and just a little like Eames. He wonders if he can talk Arthur out of showering before they return to the warehouse.

 

“Stop it,” Arthur grumbles, shoving Eames’ head away. But his smile betrays him, as does the way he presses Eames into the carpet moments later, nothing between them when he slides home inside Eames once again.

 

Hours later, when it's Eames who reeks of them and Arthur can’t seem to stop sending him heated looks over the head of their architect, Eames realizes Arthur avoided the question yet again.

 

***

 

“Have you really never done it?” Eames asks, his courage bolstered by the bottle of Raki sitting half empty between them. They’re in Athens, but the bar is Turkish and they’re celebrating their survival after a botched job in Izmir. The locale seemed fitting after waking up to a gun pressed to his temple and Arthur bloodied on the floor. When they stumbled off their hastily booked charter flight, Arthur had been limping and half asleep on his shoulder, and thus in no shape to argue over accommodations.

 

Eames booked them a small room above the tavern and separate flights to four different locations worldwide to shake their tail, but he’s having second thoughts about leaving now he’s got Arthur across the table, looking softly back at him like Eames is someone he might like to keep.

 

“Never said that,” Arthur slurs, his brow wrinkling adorably.

 

Eames empties his glass and speaks the words that would never make it past his lips were they both sober. “Is it me, then?”

 

Arthur’s eyes go comically wide and he reaches across the table to smack Eames upside his head. “Don’t be stupid. You’re very tolerable!”

 

“Tolerable?” Eames squawks, silently relieved.

 

“Completely,” Arthur tells him, looking pleased with himself and refilling their glasses.

 

“Well,” Eames says, growing a little misty at the admission and internally blaming the alcohol. “I suppose you’re tolerable as well.”

 

Arthur grins and taps his glass against Eames’, Raki splashing onto his hand. “Damn straight.”

 

***

 

It becomes a joke between them, this impossible act. A game where Eames pretends he doesn’t love it when Arthur denies him and Arthur acts above it all. For three years they dance around it, coming closer and closer to the actual act until it becomes something they speak about in whispers and threats, filthy words spilled between them as Eames rubs the head of his prick against Arthur’s hole, skittering off course at the last possible moment to coat Arthur’s thighs instead.

 

Arthur plays as dirty at sex as he does at life, teasing Eames while he’s buried deep inside, Eames grinding in his lap and moaning obscenely as Arthur just sits there, taunting him with it. Telling Eames how good it feels to be in him, how Eames has no idea how warm, how snug it is. It’s a nasty trick and Eames is helpless against it.

 

It’s not until much later when Eames wakes one morning in Arthur’s bed, the sunlight streaming across the floor and setting all the fine hairs on Arthur’s shoulders alight, and he can’t help confess his feelings. He kisses the words to Arthur’s mouth to wake him, licks them over his skin and bites them into his bones so Arthur knows Eames is staking his claim. That he’s home to stay.

 

Later, when they’re both spent and Eames’ throat is hoarse from saying it, Arthur mouths across Eames’ wrist to his arm, over his shoulder and up his neck to spill the words right back into Eames, filling him with the sights, and sounds, and warmth of love.

 

***

 

There’s nothing special about the day Arthur asks Eames to fuck him. It’s not a birthday or an anniversary as far as Eames knows; just a normal Thursday. Arthur’s just woken, having slept late and bundled in warmth like the cat Eames teases he is. He’s soft from sleep and deliciously rumpled when he calls Eames to him, already naked and waiting. He’s doe-eyed and exposed, confident enough in this life they share to let Eames in on the secret.

 

Eames treats it like an honour, stripping off his clothes before sliding into Arthur’s nest of blankets and kissing him until Arthur’ slack-jawed and squirming against him. He goes slow, kneading Arthur’s ass with the palms of his hands, spreading him gently and ghosting a finger over his hole. Arthur presses into it, nipping at Eames’ shoulder.

 

“Please,” he breathes, fingers biting into Eames’ arms as he grinds down.

 

“Yes,” Eames answers, smoothing one hand down Arthur’s back, again and again, until he’s laying still on top of Eames. “Like this? So I can see you.”

 

Arthur nods, pulling the slick from beneath a pillow.

 

“Do you want anything else first?” Eames asks applying gentle pressure with the pad of his middle finger. “Ease you into it.”

 

Arthur shakes his head, using Eames’ chest to push himself up. “No, just this.” He coats his own fingers and sits down on two, his quiet moan taking Eames from half hard to ready to go.

 

“Careful,” Eames admonishes, sliding his own fingers around Arthur’s, feeling how he’s stretching himself.

 

“S’fine,” Arthur pants. “Just want you.”

 

“Why now?” Eames asks, gasping when Arthur’s hand slides over him.

 

Arthur huffs at the question, but then he’s lining Eames up and easing down.

 

“Darling, tell me,” Eames coaxes, gritting his teeth against the impossible tightness and the sheer bliss on Arthur’s face as he takes more of Eames.

 

“I’m ready now,” Arthur says, the last word disappearing into a guttural moan as he sits flush with Eames’ hips. Arthur’s hole is fluttering around him, adjusting to the intrusion, and Eames watches in wonder, keeping as still as he can as Arthur’s eyes gloss over and his skin pinkens. “It’s not— it’s more, you’ll see.”

 

Arthur rocks gently, his rim dragging against the base of Eames’ cock, and lets loose a noise Eames can only describe as a whine. His hands are flat on Eames’ stomach, giving him leverage to move as he likes and Eames can only gasp and stare as Arthur moves his body in long, slow waves. The look of ecstasy on Arthur’s face does wonders for his ego, but when he grips Arthur’s hips, he’s batted away.

 

“No, it’s too much if you—” Arthur whispers, eyes closed tight. “Let me.”

 

And Eames does. He has to wind his hands into the sheets to keep from touching Arthur, but he does as he’s told and just watches Arthur take from him.

 

It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen and the sheer bliss on Arthur’s face is almost unbelievable, but the sounds he makes, the short, sharp bursts of breath, let out amongst a litany of praise and condemnations is astonishing. Arthur loves it, that much is clear, but the tears that spring from his eyes and drip onto Eames chest tell of what a trial it is. Arthur’s body is burning everywhere Eames is touching him, from the unforgiving grip on his cock to the sweat building from Arthur’s thighs against his hips.

 

“Arthur, are you...” he coos, wanting to comfort him but quickly losing himself to the glory.

 

“Eames, fuck, Eames!” Arthur leans back and his eyes fly open at the change, his fingers scrabbling for purchase along Eames’ ribs. “So good,” he whines.

 

“Shh, shh, darling, I’m here,” he takes hold of Arthur’s hands, linking their fingers and giving more for Arthur to push against.

 

“Eames,” Arthur mewls, speeding up. His face is wet from tears and spittle and he cries out in pleasure. Eames presses up, more a reaction than anything, and Arthur honest to god screams. It startles him, but Arthur’s cock pumps out a thick strand of precome so he does it again, harder this time.

 

“Fuck, fuck, I can’t—” Arthur gasps, making Eames still.

 

“Arth—”

 

“Don’t stop!” Arthur shouts, drawing himself up and slamming back down. Eames chokes out a breath and soldiers on, fucking into him as Arthur squirms and swears on top of him.

 

It’s obvious that Arthur is incredibly sensitive and Eames understands why he doesn’t show this side of himself to just anyone. Why he keeps the shameless, wanton creature he becomes hidden.  Eames’ ego soars at being allowed to watch, to service Arthur like this, and on a deeper level, he knows this is Arthur giving himself completely to Eames. Letting him in both literally and figuratively.

 

Arthur’s ass is just as tight as when they began, constantly clenching and releasing around Eames as Arthur shudders at every movement. Eames is getting sore, and it’s more than a little exhausting, but he’s never been happier or more determined to push past his own comfort. Arthur’s letting out wet sobs and moaning with every little twitch, leaving half-moon nail marks along the back of Eames’ hands, showing no sign of slowing down, and Eames doesn’t dare take this away from him.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” Eames tells him, eyes fixated on the plush wetness of Arthur’s mouth. “I never thought, God, Arthur, you’re amazing.”

 

“Eames, Eames, I’m sorry, I just, I wanted.” Arthur groans between each word, his cock leaking steadily.

 

“Darling, it’s okay, it’s fine, you’re perfect, I love you,” Eames slurs back, pumping into Arthur. He’s close, and Eames wants to see him come like this maybe more than he’s wanted anything else save for Arthur in his life.

 

“Love you, fuck, god, I love you, Eames!” Arthur cries, words turning to sobs as he grinds himself down and comes with shocking force, his come hitting Eames on the chin. Eames cocks his head forward and opens his mouth, taking the second shot across his tongue. The third pulse is weaker, coating his sternum and seeping into the hair there. He can taste, smell, and feel Arthur and though he wants to continue, Arthur slumps over him, whimpering. He eases out carefully, pulling Arthur to him when he whines. He rolls them until he’s settled over Arthur, caging him in with his body.

 

“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he tells Arthur, kissing the tear tracks on his cheeks. Arthur’s eyes are closed, but Eames knows it’s because of afterglow and not embarrassment so he rubs against Arthur’s hip, letting sweat and what’s left of the slick guide him as he ruts. “I’m keeping you forever, even if we never to that again.”

 

Arthur’s mouth curves into a smile and Eames laughs.

 

“You’re a miracle,” he breathes, speeding up.

 

“I am,” Arthur agrees, opening his eyes. He’s come-drunk and smug, just as Eames likes him. “You’re the only one I’ve wanted to do that with.”

 

Eames’ rhythm stutters at that, but Arthur’s hands on his ass guide him back to it, and it’s Eames’ turn to lose his words to grunts and moans as Arthur hooks one leg over his hip and arches into him.

 

“You’re the only one I want to see all of me,” Arthur continues, his breath soft and warm on Eames’ lips. “The only one I can let go like that with. The only one I trust myself with.”

 

Eames’ body seizes at that and he comes, hot and messy between them, with Arthur's solid body beneath him and his affection seeping into every crevice of Eames’ heart and mind.

 

“I love you,” Arthur whispers, pressing Eames’ cheek to his chest, his hands steady on Eames’ back.

 

Eames presses a kiss, impossibly delicate and heavy to Arthur’s skin. “Damn straight.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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